


Afterthought

by TheUntitledWritingProject



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Requited Love, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25437175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUntitledWritingProject/pseuds/TheUntitledWritingProject
Summary: Dealing with Benny left Ares with an apartment, a rather happy robot, a lot of questions, and one really disturbed friend. Arcade trusts the securitron about as far as he can throw it, but with Caesar's Legion set to march on the dam, they are running out of time and out of options. Armed with little regard for his own life and not much else, Ares has to decide if betting against the House is truly the best hand to play. Or if the NCRs mission just might be the only way to keep what little peace he built from crumbling. Rating changed to Mature for language and cannon-typical depictions of violence.UNDERGOING REVISIONS!!
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Kudos: 23





	Afterthought

Ares knew his room was completely, absolutely, and without a doubt, an utter health hazard. What little belongings he had that were too heavy to take with him but too important to sell lay scattered across the floor in a perfect example of the shattered remnants of his will to live that the man had slowly attempted to wonderglue back together. He had ran out of glue, and fucks to give, long before he had reached the strip and what little comfort having a decent place to stay gave him did not fix his crushed self-esteem or the rusted-over minigun in the corner. He tried to keep it clean, or as clean as one could be while hoarding boxes of sugar bombs he never seemed to feel like eating. Add in all of the stuff he had asked Raul to repair only to break again two days later, a chest full of different armor to keep different people from shooting at him, some random stuff ED-E seemed to beep happily about when he picked up, and Boone’s perfect rendition of a pissed-off mannequin on his couch brought the whole room into a glorious design he liked to call “well at least we don't have rad-roaches”.  
  
Somehow, he didn’t think Arcade caught the beauty of such a design, as the man had literally glared around the room three times in the five minutes they had been there. The man looked surprisingly disappointed in the furnishings of one of the better-stocked apartments in New Vegas, considering he had been sleeping on a cot in a tent for who knows how long. Or a sleeping bag. The ground. Ares chest. The last one had been an accident fueled by too much whiskey followed by too much vodka and too little sleep on both of their parts. The wasteland doctor has woken with a halo of blonde curls and sheer regret shining across his features, despite the innocence of the act. Ares believed there wasn’t a bullet in the world that could erase that reaction from his mind, as much as he wished he could forget it.  
  
Ares sighed, filling the cleanest glass he could find with Nuka-cola before passing it to his companion as he nodded towards Boon, who had finally moved enough to end the slowly growing fear that he had either died or was slowly turning into a plant person. The sniper inclined his head in return before making a beeline for the door, clearly not in the mood for visitors in his otherwise silent nest. Lucky bastard. Ares just shook his head, gesturing for his friend to take the less dusty of the two couches before plopping down unceremoniously on the one with the very conspicuous red stain. Not that he himself had caused it. Whatever Benny had been up to before he...passed along ownership... was not worth the time or effort to think about. The bastard had left more than one crime scene behind before becoming one. But unlike the unfortunate soul tried to put two too many bullets through Ares skull, the courier had the decency to clean up after himself. There was no matching stain on the pillow next room. No rusty smell of blood seeping through the mattress. No. Benny’s mark was left everywhere but there, everything his life and death seeped into that night had met a very timely end in the kitchen furnace. And if another room was missing two twin mattresses, the new owners had yet to complain. Didn’t stop the constant shift of Arcade’s eyes towards the bedroom though.  
  
“Remind me again why you're living...”  
  
“In the room of the radroach I smashed and...well smashed”  
  
“Yes...that” the doctor sighed, sliding onto the cushions just opposite of him. He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees as if he was trying to touch as little of the fabric beneath him as possible. He tipped his head back, exposing smooth clean skin and sharp jaw as he downed his Nuka-Cola like whiskey. Ares snorted at the action, though quickly converted to a cough. He had always found his friend’s habit of drinking everything he was handed like a gambler drowning his losing streak endearing. He’s never known the man to half-ass anything.  
  
“The only other option is the Lucky 38 and I’m pretty sure its bugged to high heavens even without Victor’s constant watching” he shrugged, sipping thoughtfully on his own sasparilla.  
  
“I’m pretty sure House has the entirety of New Vegas bugged”  
  
“Most likely, but Benny was able to keep him out of here long enough to steal that chip” Arcade paled slightly at the mention of the suite’s previous tenant, eyes shooting back towards the room Benny spent his final few moments in. At least he spent them in bliss, before he had the bright idea to declare he was just “granting a deadman’s last wish” and reached for his pistol. Ares may not be able to wax Latin poetry at anyone and everyone with an opinion, but he was far from stupid. And he definitely could no longer be classified as a slow drawl. Benny died with the same smug expression he sent Ares to his first grave with. Always thinking he had the upper hand.  
  
“I wouldn’t count on that..” Arcade sighed, running his hands through his hair. The silken strands fell messily towards his face, damp with sweat and free of the gel they had run out of days ago. The trek back had been borderline disastrous, most of their non-essential supplies being put towards a rather essential vial of antivenom after a radscorpion got far too friendly with their makeshift tent and then decidedly unfriendly with its inhabitants, along with a doctor’s bag after Ares missed its face and the bullet bounced like a ball off its shell back towards him. Not that the courier could exactly be blamed for his bad depth perception. Benny had been kind enough to relieve him of one eye while trying to kill him. And as good as the old doc had done with the rest of his shattered face, you can’t exactly suture up something that exploded into a pile of goo. Unfortunately for Ares, the small metal replacement one of the followers forced into his skull did little more than stop his skin from sinking back into the socket, great for social gatherings but not much for actual combat. Arcade peered up at him from behind the messy locks and Ares swore the abortive movement his hand made was without the consent of the rest of his body. He swiped it back down quickly, though the quick flash of surprise across green eyes told him the movement had been noticed. Maybe his draw was still a bit slow after all.  
  
It had always been like this, ever since Ares let a little bit of well-deserved flattery roll off his tongue and led the other man away from the fort full of death and disease out into the wasteland that reveled in it. He hadn’t been joking, wasn’t trying to win the man over and out the door. Arcade had been surprisingly gracious to his advance, something he wasn’t used to. Manny had been awkward and Knight, well, that had gone nowhere. Ares knew more than a quick tumble was far too much to ask of anyone in this god-forsaken wasteland the bombs had left them with. And far too much to expect anywhere near New Vegas, with its private rooms and beds to match. But the doctor had been kind, almost painfully so. He followed into whatever shithole Ares stumbled into at the beck and call of people who couldn’t be bothered to do it themselves, stitched him up more than a few times, got knocked around, stung, beat, bruised, cursed at, and all the other fun activities life with everyone’s favorite delivery boy brought. So he had waited, patiently so, for the man to make the next move. But it never came. Instead, he got warm smiles and snarky humor. The sound of his friend’s voice was always a calming reassurance beside him, even when pointing out the ridiculously obvious plant zombie chasing them down a vault corridor. Arcade’s presence radiated intelligence and understanding. He was one of the few people Ares knew that wanted nothing more than to help someone else. He’d thought it might actually grow into something. But one stupid morning had stamped that down in the Brahmin-trodden dirt and he was left grasping.  
  
“I’m not spitballin here, Arcade” he assented, quietly, doing his best not to analyze whatever the hell just happened. “I’ve got proof” He rose, gesturing for the doctor to follow him towards the one room he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of. Arcade trudged behind him, slowly, hesitantly, farther away than they ever walked in the wasteland. Ares swore he could hear him swallow as he swung open the bedroom door, revealing probably the cleanest place in the apartment. Faded white sheets, bleached as well as anything could be two hundred years after they were made, peeked out from under a thick cotton blanket, its color long lost but its threads still holding strong. The wardrobe nestled against the wall held only good, clean armor worth wearing when setting out after a couple of days on the Strip, all well maintained and worth a pretty cap or two. The nightstand was free of trash or distractions. And, of course, there was a rather large securitron with an overly-excited face display standing center-stage in their own personal drama.  
  
“Hello again” It chirped cheerfully, rolling toward them slightly as Arcade took two steps back. The steel brackets of its frame seemed to wobble slightly, though it maintained an upright posture enough it was probably in no danger of tipping over and crushing them both. Probably.  
  
“Your solution to not being watched by the mother of all securitrons…is a securitron…” He quizzed slowly, like a parent guiding a child to an obviously logical conclusion. Golden brown eyebrows knit together in what was obviously concern and perhaps just a bit of annoyance. Amazing how the man could exude both at the same time. The courier snorted, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.  
  
“Arcade, meet YesMan. Benny modified him special…”  
  
“Please tell me this isn’t another Fisto...”  
  
“Not that special…that I know of…YesMan here is the reason yours truly lost a little grey matter in Goodsprings” he shrugged, as if the thought that the large bot next to him intricately plotting his demise was a perfectly normal part of any human-machine interaction. It's not like YesMan knew him personally at the time. Hell, Ares’ real name wasn’t even on the roster, as far as he could tell. There wasn’t a last name attached to it. So either he named himself after some Greek or roman or something god of war or his parents had a lot of explaining to do. Then again, his best friend was named after a videogame house so maybe it was just a parent thing. At least it was halfway unique. He’d met fifteen different Kings in the past two weeks.  
  
“Okay……” Arcade pushed quietly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Or was it defense? Ares couldn’t tell. But he could feel those far-too-knowing eyes on his scar, scanning the physical proof of the almost success of the robot’s plans.  
  
Ares smiled widely, slapping the securitron in his strange approximation for a shoulder. He knew what it looked like. He had clearly lost his mind and three months of wandering the desert with brain damage had finally taken its toll. He could practically see the diagnosis streaming across Arcade’s eyes as if it were written on his glasses.  
“You see, YesMan was specifically redesigned by Benny for a very singular purpose..”  
  
“To shoot you in the head?”  
  
“Kinda…not exactly, I was apparently carrying a platinum chip that night…”  
  
“…which is…”  
  
“The key to overriding Mr. Houses security and freeing Vegas”  
  
Arcade just stared at him, mouth opening and closing as it choked on a strange mixture of having everything and nothing to say. The courier felt a strange swell of pride in his chest. Well…it wasn’t every day someone left the good doctor speechless. Though if the other man would just relax a little bit…  
  
“Let me get this straight…you’re going to take over New Vegas…with a securitron…”  
  
“Yes….”  
  
“And the robot agrees to this plan..”  
  
“I am virtually incapable of disagreeing with anyone!”  
  
“Of course you are…” his friend sighed, burying his face in his hands, distress radiating off him in waves. “I thought we talked about this…”  
  
“He’s not a Fisto…”  
  
“That’s not…just… forget it, Ares…” he sighed slim shoulders drooping slightly, the worn labcoat pulling tight against them. With a shake of his head and a few murmurs Ares couldn’t quite make sense of, he headed back out towards the door and away from are rather stunned courier and a still smiling bot. Ares swore the man stole one last glance at the bed before he did so, probably checking for bloodstains. Or Ares’ common sense. Heaven knows he didn’t take it with him that night. The door clicked shut softly behind him, harsher than any slam to ever rattle its hinges. Deafening silence filled the room, though it was far from peaceful. The air that had once been filled with Arcade’s steady presence rang hollow, the calm that always followed him leaving Ares behind.  
  
“He does not appear pleased!” came the joyful chirp from his now sole companion.


End file.
